


Salvation

by miss_nettles_wife



Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: AU, Charlie/Lawson is hinted but not specified, Father/Son, Future Fic, Gen, Grief, S3 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4246830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You shouldn't be in here.” Charlie repeated, as he walked to Munro, and pulled him out by the arm. “The Doctor didn't like people touching the things in there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> TBH I never even hated Munro that much. So here's...this. Whatever this is. It's funny, every time I'm like 'I am never doing a flash back narrative again' and now I've done two pieces of grief based flashback narratives in a row. (Also: Munro is really out of character? Maybe. IDK I thought it was a good idea) But don't worry y'all. We'll return to our regularly scheduled 'Charlie gets beat the heck up' fics sooner rather then later. As always. Leave a comment if you liked it, and feel free to contact me with any comments questions or concerns. (Yes I am going to write Charlie/Lawson properly some day. )

“Dr Blakes...Davis residence.” Charlie states, as he picks up the phone, late one evening.   
“Ah...Davis, was it, there's a man here...Got your number written on his arm. He's not being very cooperative.”  
“Does this man have a name?” he asked, without hesitation. There's a pause on the other end of the line, and some talking he can't decipher.   
“Says his names Munro. He's pretty shit faced, I can't quite get much else out of him.”  
“Ah. Tell him I'm coming to get him.” He sighed, before hanging up the phone. He left no room for discussion. He never did. If Munro was back in town then he needed to know why. 

…

There's a knock on the door, which probably meant Lawson either forgot his keys, or had his hands full. Getting to his feet, Charlie made his was to the door, and opened it.   
“Hobart. I didn't know you made house calls.” He said, offering the other a fake smile.   
“You know what this is, don't you Charlie?” Hobart asked, in a somber tone. Charlie nods.   
“Was it Danny?” Hobart shakes his head. Charlie bit his bottom lip and nodded.   
“No.” He murmured. Hobart nods.   
“It was.”  
“He was always so careful...”  
“I know. You need to come and identify him, as his listed next of kin. I assume his kid's still out of the state.”   
“She is, yes.” Charlie nodded. “Just…Let me get my coat.” He murmured. 

…

He's always hated bars. In all fairness, Charlie Davis hates anything that requires him leaving the house, and horror of all horrors, being social. He'd never been an exciting young man, and this trait carried along with him as he ended up at he beginning of his middle age. He parks the car by the front of the building. The cream Honda seems to have been his only steady companion these last few years. Sliding out, he couldn't help but pull his coat closer around himself. He jogged up to the building, hoping to be in and out fast enough to avoid the threat of incoming rain. 

After entering, Munro was not hard to find, he was easily the most drunk man there. Charlie sighed, and walked up next to him, with his hands stuffed as deep into his pockets as they could go.   
“Munro.” He states. Munro looked up him with squinted eyes   
“Do you know...If I squint my eyes, when I look at you, I can see him?” It doesn't take a genius to know that he's talking about Charlie's father.   
“I'm sure you can.” Charlie stated, as Munro tipped back the last of his drink. He puts his hand up for another, but Charlie pushes it back down on the counter. “He wants to shut up for the night. I'm here to collect you.”  
“Are you?”  
“I am.” He said. “Now get your ass up.” He said, whacking Munro firmly in the shoulder. Munro complies, and puts some money on the counter. Charlie sighs and produces his own wallet. “How much does he owe?”  
“I'll let him go with this if you get him out.' The bar tender replied. Charlie nods, tucks his wallet away, and grabs Munro by the arm, and pulled him out into the bitterly cold air of the early morning.   
…  
Ï'll talk to him.” Mattie said softly, moving down the row of pews to stand beside Charlie. He was looking in the coffin with an unusually blank stare. “Charlie.” She said, softly. “You need to move on so other people can say goodbye as well.” He doesn't reply for a moment, before he says   
“I thought embalming was supposed to make them look like they were sleeping.” Mattie looked into the coffin at the Doctor. He seemed alright to her. Perhaps slightly plastic but certainly the embalmer did a good job of putting his face back together. “He looks dead to me.” He murmured, before turning, and heading off to find a seat. She watches him go with concerned eyes.   
…

Arriving back at the Doctor's house, Charlie slid back out of his car, and went around to let Munro out. Munro stumbled out, and would have tripped, had Charlie not caught him. After being put back on his feet, Munro sighed softly, and straightened out his wrinkled shirt. Charlie assisted him up the stairs and into the house. 

He deposited Munro on the sofa, and wandered to the kitchen. He poured a glass of water, and gave it to the older man, before sitting next to him, starring at the blank TV. “You still live with the Doctor?”  
“Actually, the Doctor's dead. It's my house now.”  
“I thought he had a daughter?”  
“He does. I took out a loan and brought it from her.”  
“And?”  
“She sold it to me, the contents, he left to Mrs Beazley, who left them to her children, who gave them to me after she died.”   
“I'm sorry to hear it.” Charlie shrugged.   
“Well it's in the past now.”   
“Have you got anyone hear with you?”  
“Danny stays over when his wife kicks him out.”  
“Danny?”  
“You don't know him. He was my predecessor at the station.” Charlie stated, keeping a careful eye on Munro to make sue that he didn't choke on the water. Munro put the water down on the coffee table, and looked at Charlie for a moment. He seemed slightly more sober, but still not enough. Charlie sighed, and got to his feet. He collected a blanket from the linen cuboard, and tossed it over him. “Sleep.” He said, after a moment. “I'll be upstairs if you need me. Sleep sitting up so you don't choke.”  
“You aren't gonna stay?”  
“I only went and collected you because I know that the Doctor was a firm believer in second chances. And because my father, for whatever reason, saw something in you he liked. I'm hardly going to do waste my night on you.” He said, taking off his coat. “Don't go into the studio, or the office, don't touch anything, and don't put your feet on the couch.” He said, before heading up the stairs to his bed.   
…  
Dr Harvey pulls out the metal tray, and then the sheet back from his face. Charlie watches impassivley. After starring at him for a moment, he nods. “Yes. I that's him.” Hobart puts a hand on his shoulder, but Charlie shakes it off in favor of pulling back the sheet enough to take Lawson's hand into his own.   
“Doctor Verner will be performing the autopsy.” Hobart states. Hobart has made no secret of his dislike for Dr Harvey, but Charlie never found any sense in it. He'd always liked her. She never beat around the bush. Always blunt.   
“I'd prefer it if Doctor Harvey could.” he states. Hobart glances at her, and she nods.   
“That's fine.” He said, watching Charlie carefully hold onto Lawson's pale fingers.   
“Inspector.” She said, softly, moving to where he could see her, “You can see the defensive wounds, he went down fighting.” Charlie nods,   
“Of course he did. I wouldn't have expected any less of Matthew Lawson.” He whispered, and moved his other hand to hold onto his tightly. After a moment, he slowly set the hand back down again. Hobart can see tears sparkling in his eyes. It was no secret that Charlie and Lawson had been close, doubly so after Blake's death. He wondered what the inspector was going to do now. He turns halfway to face Hobart. “You'll find who did this, won't you?” he asked softly.   
“Of course.” Hobart promised. Charlie nodded.   
“Thank you, Dr Harvey.” He stated, before gently pulling the cover up over his face again.   
“He wouldn't like having it over his face.” Charlie stated, as Dr Harvery put the tray back in the freezer. “He'd say that he feels like he's suffocating.” He murmured, before suffing his hands into his pockets. Dr Harvery gave him a brown paper bag with Lawson's things.   
“One watch, one notebook, two pencils, one pen, one hip flask, filled with rubbing alcohol, three sticking plasters, unused...” Dr Harvey is still talking, but Charlie has zoned out by now   
…  
He wakes up to the smell of eggs. Jean has been dead for a little under ten years, but even so, it takes him a long minute to figure out that it wasn't her. It has to be Munro. He drags himself up, and changes into plain black pants, and a white shirt. It's tasteless and bland, but it looks okay, which is fine by him. He makes his way downstairs, considering the nicest way to kick Munro out of his house and tell him to never call again. (If there was such a thing) 

When he enters the kitchen, he's slightly shocked to see a full breakfast laid out. “You made this?” he asks, as he takes a seat in his usual spot.   
“Well it felt like the least I could do, given the state you picked me up in last night.”  
“Is that why you're wearing sunglasses in my house?”   
“Yes it is.” he nodded, before sitting down across from him, and taking a piece of toast. Charlie studied him for a moment, before grabbing a slice as well.   
“Okay, spill. Why did you have my number on your arm?”  
“You're the only person in town who I still know.”  
“Me? Or the Doctor?”  
“Well...You. Actually. I wanted to return this.” He reached into his pocket, and presented Charlie with a pen.   
“What the Hell am I going to do with this?” He asked.   
“It was your fathers. I took it from his desk. I just wanted to have something that was his, surely you understand?”  
“I do, but why give it away?”  
“Because...You deserve it more then me.”  
“Do I?”  
“Yes. You do. Everything I ever did, I did for him.”  
“For him?” Munro nods.   
“And then he was gone, but…I was still alive. So I did all I could think to do. I was the best officer I could be. I climbed the ranks. I outshone him.” Charlie gives a small smile to him. He wasn't wrong. “And then, when I met you, I thought, that even if I couldn't have saved him, I could...Save you. And that you would be...My salvation. But I'd already lost you to Blake.”  
“I didn't belong to Blake. I didn't belong to anyone.”  
“You still did what he asked.”  
“Because he was right. You were dangerous.”  
“Were?”  
“Look at you, Munro.” He sighed, softly.   
“Alright, Now you owe me a story. What happened to your doctor Blake?”  
…  
“I thought you would want to see him.” Ned said softly, from behind him. Charlie nods, and slowly approached the crumpled figure.   
“What happened to him?” He asked, quietly   
“They shot him in the face.”  
“They?”  
“I can't disclose details yet, Charlie.”  
“I know. Because I'm family and I'll do something impulsive.” He said, in a hushed tone. He finally reaches the body. How do you go through the seven stages of grief when you're starting at acceptance? He reaches down, and carefully touches his blood stained face. His hand comes away bloody.   
“I'm sorry.” he said, quietly.   
“Aren't we all?” Charlie whispered.   
…  
“So that was that? No big case to solve, no mystery?”  
“None. They caught the guy in two hours, charged him in three.”  
“Seems unfitting.”  
“It does.” Charlie agreed, as he took a sip of juice. “But that's life. It's unfair, and it's harsh.” He deadpanned, before clicking the glass back down on the table. Munro sighed softly and looked at Charlie for a moment, really looked at him. His eyes seemed tired, more then anything else. Frownlines marked the sides of his mouth, and he had the beginnings of crows feet besides his eyes. Despite only being forty three, he had a shock of grey hair coming at the front of his out of style side part Charlie takes another bite of toast, and raises his eyebrows. “So what happened, after Melbourne?”  
“Well, I got forced into early retirement.”  
“I know that.”  
“After that, I was expelled from the lodge, my wife left me, I'd lost everything I'd ever been invested in.”  
“Unfortunate.” Munro sighed softly.   
“I can't see you being much better off.”  
“Alright, that's fair.” Charlie said, as he speared a piece of bacon with his fork.   
“What happened to the O'Brian girl? Didn't she live here?”  
“She finished her course and went home to Melbourne. She used to call, but she doesn't now. I'm a self destructive liability to her.”  
“Self destructive?”  
“I live in his house. I water her plants. I listen to his radio station, and I polish his little plaque out the front.” He said, softly. “ I've always been a bomb, but it's simply a matter of when I explode.”  
“Is that so?”  
“It's what I've been told.”  
…  
The house feels empty without him there. He thought that he'd never get used to living without the Doctor and Jean, but just when he thought maybe he was alright, afterall, he'd lost the last person that he had managed to form a bond with. Without Lawson, he couldn't even think up a way to get himself out of bed that morning. It wasn't until fifteen minutes past his usual morning run that he realized that Lawson would already be scolding him. 

He drags himself up. He changes, he does his hair, he brushes his teeth. He closes his eyes and pretends that Lawson is behind him, mirroring the action the way that they had been for the last three years. When he opens them, Lawson isn't there to tell him to hurry up, he's alone again. 

…

“Is that what you believe?”  
“I don't know.” He admitted. “I think maybe, to some level it might be, but I don't like thinking about it too much. Do you want to know a real bomb? Danny Park's marriage.”  
“His marriage?”  
“It's volatile. The pair of them. Neither happy, both have had more affairs then I care to count, both of them yell constantly, got married too young, grew up bitter.”  
“You mentioned he stays here?”  
“When he storms out, swearing he won't return, this is where he comes. I hold him, and I tell him it's okay and he cries and I cry because he's crying and he falls asleep, and I can assure you, he doesn't make me breakfast.”  
“Well it felt rude to not at least say goodbye.' Charlie snorted, and took another sip of juice,   
“And see the ruin my life turned into?”  
“That too.” Charlie shrugged, and knocked back the last of his juice.   
“Not much else to say, about me. Never married. No kids. Just a ton of plants.”  
“You garden?”  
“No, but Mrs Beazley did.”  
“What happened to her?” Muro asked, with a raised eyebrow.   
“Well...She was killed, in a bus accident. About six months after you left.”  
“Wow.”  
“Yeah.” Charlie agreed. “So now you know, then. I have no one else left in the world.”  
“Not even Lawson?”  
“Killed in the line of duty.”  
“Ah.”   
…

The funeral ends. Charlie stays behind to look at the pile of dirt, holding Blake under. After a moment, Lawson walked up next to him. “The wake's starting soon.” He said, as Charlie looked up at him.   
“I'm not going.”  
“What are you going to do instead?”  
“I don't know.”  
“You didn't think this out well.” Lawson stated, placing an arm around Charlie's shoulders.   
“He'd have hated that.”  
“The headstone?”  
“No. Being in that little box. He hated confined spaces.”  
“I know.” Lawson said softly,   
“He's dead now, though. So I suppose it doesn't matter.” Lawson sighed softly. It just seemed like Charlie was getting more and more distant recently, despite his attempts to try and anchor the man back to earth.   
“No. I suppose it doesn't.” He offered, “You're right. Let's skip the wake and just go home.” Charlie nods, after a moment.   
“I don't like parties.” He states, as Lawson pulls him away from the grave and towards the car.   
“I know.” He said, after a moment. “Me neither.”

…

“How long ago?”  
“About two years ago.”  
“Oh.” Charlie stood, and cracked his back.   
“I suppose. Anyway. I'm going to go take a shower. When you're finished here, go home. And next time you get shit faced..don't call me.” Munro gave him a curious look, but nodded.

…

The doctor is drunk again. Since Jean's passing, his drinking had gotten worse and worse. Charlie was the only person who still tried to make him see reason when he was this drunk. “I think you've had enough, Doc.” He sighed, capping the bottle of whatever this was, and taking the glass out of his hand.   
“I think...” He slurred, in Charlie's general direction.   
“Doc, if you're drunk when Lawson needed his police surgeon...He'll fire you.”   
“I know, Char...” Well at least he wasn't yelling tonight was Charlie's only consolation, as he helped Blake up to bed, on his side, naturally. Unlike Munro, Charlie cared rather deeply about if the doctor lived or died. He was headed downstairs when he heard a horn beep outside. Peering out of the blinds he saw a motorbike, with Danny's unmistakable silhouette on it. After a moment, he shoved his hands into his pocket, and ran out to meet him.   
“Charlie.” He greeted.   
“Danny.” He sighed, running a hand though his hair. Danny used his shoulder to point at the building.   
“Is he drunk.” Charlie nodded yes. “It's not your job to save him from himself.”  
“If I don't…. Who will? Not Lawson, not you, and not Mattie.”  
“You don't owe him anything.”  
“I owe him everything, Danny. You don't understand.”  
“If you don't leave now. You're not going to.” Charlie looks at him for a moment. “You have family in Melbourne, who love you. Are you really going to leave them for a man who can't even control himself for one night?” There's a pause. “Happy birthday, by the way.”  
“Thanks.” Charlie sighed. “But...Yes. I am.”  
“Charlie...”  
“I'm not a child, Danny. I know what I'm doing. He's grieving.”  
“So are you! Don't keep doing this to yourself!”  
“Doing what, exactly?”  
“Acting like you're less them him Like people don't care about you, because I can assure people care very much about you.” Charlie looked at him for a moment, before shaking his head.   
“You don't understand. You never could.” He said, before turning. He walked back to the house, aware of Danny's burning eyes on his back.   
….  
“Did you paint that?” Munro asked, looking at a fresh canvas in the studio. A plain blue canvas, with two small figures in the center, clinging to one another for dear life. “It's very good.”  
“You shouldn't be in here.   
“You look happy.” Munro said, as Charlie entered the studio. He was looking at one of the photo's on the mantle piece now, collecting it in his hands.   
“You shouldn't be in here.” Charlie repeated, as he walked to Munro, and pulled him out by the arm. “The Doctor didn't like people touching the things in there.”  
“What? So it's just going to stay a dusty studio forever?”  
“Yes.” He said, hauling Munro into the hall.   
“I told you to get out of my house.”  
“And I decided not to.”  
“Why?”  
“Because you live all alone in this big house.”  
“Not you too. I'm not forcing anyone else to live here with me, am I?” He asked, as he started to push Munro towards the door. “It was a mistake to bring you here.”  
“A mistake to realize how miserable you are?”   
“Oh shut up. And give me that.” He said, snatching the photo out of Munro's fingers. His eyes linger over the photo encased inside. Him and the Doctor. Blake has an arm around his neck, while he's bent over in laughter. It was a happy memory. He didn't have many of those left anymore.   
“He was special to you, wasn't he.”  
“He treated everyone like they were special. Even if you weren't. It was hard not to love him back.” He admitted, after a moment. “When he was talking to you, or looking at you, it was like you had one hundred percent of his attention. Like you were the single most important being in the whole universe. He made you feel...Warm. Loved. Important. Surely, even you must have felt it?” He asked, looking at Munro with imploring eyes. After a moment, Munro nodded slightly. Charlie held the photo frame up to his chest. He put it on the sideboard table. His eyes linger on it again. “Yes, I was happy.” He told Munro. “I stayed, even when everyone else left because I just liked being with him.” He murmured. “And when he died, I didn't know what to do.”  
“What did you do?”  
…  
“You were meant to be there.” He informs Lawson's grave. Three hours ago he was promoted to Superintendent. “You were meant to tell me how proud I made you. You were meant to tell me that I am clever and I will be a great superintendent because I take after you in all but name. You're supposed to go with me, when I have them change my blazer. You're supposed to hold me, and call me your son and tell me you love me.” He said, sinking into the dirt near the grave. “You're just as bad. As bad as Blake.”  
…  
“I went with Lawson.”  
“You did?”  
“He moved in, so I wouldn't be alone in this big old house. We would watch Game of Champions drunk, and dance to old records. He would say “Charlie.” and I would say “Matthew.” And if I cried then he would hold me, and if he cried, I would hold him.”   
“Were you happy?”  
“When the grief melted away to reveal the apathy we all feel when people have died, for a little while, yes. I was. I was very happy with Lawson.”  
“Good.”  
“Please leave, now.” Charlie said, softly. “They wouldn't want you here.” He said, quietly, before turning, and heading into the living room. Munro looks at the door for a moment, before following back after Charlie.   
“I can't do that.”  
“Why? No one else seems to have any problems leaving me.”  
“No one would leave you on purpose.”  
“I was okay, you know.” He said, picking up a photo from the top of the piano with shaking fingers. One of Lawson, probably taken by his mother when he first joined the force. Next to it is a photo of himself, on his first day on the force, there were very few similarities between them, but he'd always tried to find then all the same. “I was alright. I was fine.” He said, setting it back down. “And then you come here, into my house and you take it from me.” He said, resting his hands on the lid of the piano keys. They're shaking again and he doesn't want Munro to know. “And I have nothing left.” He said, turning to face the other man. “Nothing left.” He said, before sagging against the piano and wiping at his eyes with force. “I have-”  
“Me.” Munro said suddenly. “You have me.”   
…  
“You brought him here.” Mattie demanded, as she pulled Charlie out of the living room and into the hall.  
“I did, yes.”  
“They would hate you for that. They'd beat you. Both of them.”  
“You're probably right.”  
“Jesus Charlie. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that the Doctor always gave second chances...So why shouldn't I?”  
“I think I might have known the Doctor better then you did, Charlie. He believed in second chances for the good. Not… People who tried to take his job.”  
“Well maybe you'd have known him better if you hadn't left him like that.”  
“You know it wasn't like that.”  
“Wasn't it? You ran off to marry your communist boyfriend, not thinking of how different you were, and how your ideologies forced a stake in between you. So please, Mattie. Tell me more about your perfect life, because I'm dying to hear it.” She stares him down for a moment. “That doesn't work on me, anymore.” He said, trying to still his hand that was clenching and unclenching a thousand times a minute.   
“I thought you wanted you wanted to keep their memories alive, not disgrace them.” She spat.   
“I do.” Mattie has tears sparkling in her eyes, and Charlie puts a hand on her shoulder. She accepts the hug from him.   
“I hate you.” She whispered, with no malice in her voice, just a sadness that Charlie felt echoing inside himself.   
“Me too.” He thinks, but he doesn't say it out loud. Because Blake would never approve of a thought like that.


End file.
